Some nights
by Backgroundnoise
Summary: [Finale chapter up] There is a plan to make all of this right...
1. Memories

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara … lame but true.

Spoilers for all the first season.

Dedicated to Lisa, who makes it possible.

Thank you.

Note: All the reviews are welcome.

Title: Some nights.

By Lylou

--------------------------

"_I shouldn't be here"._

Those words where lazily repeanting in his brain, over and over again so much, that he thought that soon they would stop having any meaning and they would become just a tongue-twister of dark and empty sounds.

But he was already accustomed to that, and he almost didn't care about it.

It was a very small price to pay to be there.

And in any case, he was willing to pay it because now, he no longer felt anything.

It had been almost two months since the last time that he saw her, every day slowly connected to the previous by the blurred and distant line of the early morning.

Always, since he was just a little boy, Michael had never slept too well, the nightmares found him every time that he was dreaming, and now, after have been in that horrible place…

When he entered in Fox River he left out even the memory of how sleep used to be.

And every damn night that he wasn't able to sleep, he was thinking in her.

Thinking about what she was doing now.

Maybe, ritght now, she was thinking about him too.

He used to torture himself with the memories of them in that cold and sad infirmary. Michael liked the memory of her warm and small hands through the latex gloves, over his arm, to put him sooths that he had never needed, or upon his back, to heal the burn that he had caused... or over his face, after he had kissed her, just one and desperate time, thinking then that maybe, it was going to be the last time.

All those memories were like a death trap for him, but he couldn't stop the memories from coming.

They weren't able to walk away and let it go, and if they had been, they didn't want to do it.

It had been more than ten months since he was out, and Michael had seen her almost every week.

It was like if both had some kind of secret and tacit agreement; they never talked about it, but Michael knew the conditions very well, or at least, he thought that, maybe it all was just a big and awful misunderstanding.

But it was hard, and painful.

Seeing Sara, sleeping with her and smelling her skin, it was like some type of volunteer torture for both of them, especially for her, because always, when she wakes up the next morning, he wasn't there.

He never was.

Some nights, when he wasn't able to sleep in his new bed, he liked taking a brief look at the big terrace at midnight and listen to the sea in the complete darkness , because his new and impersonal house, was near the sea.

And just be there, letting that the warm wind, poisoned by the sea salt, pass off his lungs, until that finally he may feel the invisible salt crystals opening a million wounds, also invisible, in his internal issues..

Of course, something like that could never occur, but thinking of the unbearable pain of what that would cause him, distracted him of that voice in his brain.

Sometimes.

That distracted him of the memory of the last time that he spoke with her, in that horrible and cold infirmary, of the silence among them then, just like the other people in that room with them, it almost distracted him of her confusing and betrayed look that morning, when finally she figured out what had been happening.

Michael liked to suffer with those memories. They were like the metallic and addictive taste of the blood in the mouth, it was like some kind of warm poison, spreading slowly on his sanguine torrent, every day a bit more until he didn't left anything.

Because breaking out of a high security prison, wasn't the most difficult thing that Michael Scofield had done in his life.

That had been just calculations, obsessive study, and a couple of toes, organization and control.

Control.

Absolute control above the other ones implicated, on every small detail of the plan, every wall, every possibility, every contingency... Control above himself.

And there he had failed painfully and he would have laughed in the darkness if he would have been able to do it.

To keep on plan had been easy, looking toward another side while someone else's life was vanishing from the drainage, also he was relatively easy, and it had been simple also to keep his own panic under control. But after a time there, after entering every day in that little and cold infirmary, and feeling her warm fingers on his skin through the glove... That was when the plan stopped being simple, and the worst thing of whole, it was when Michael Scofield stopped being sure to be able to do it.

To be able to vanish from that window in the middle of the night, through a cable, dangerously tended to the abyss, and disappearing forever, to never see her again.

That was the hardest part of the plan by far

Seeing her auburn terrorized look, fixed on him, while she was attempting to get back her breath, over a dirty and old set of pipes, dark ceiling full of dust, while the rest of the prison was burning like hell at their feet, that neither was easy, neither listening her voice, soft and strangely familiar, close to his ear, or feel her warm breath upon his own skin, as it was a permanent check mark underneath his tattoos.. He never had a contingency for that.

And a week after he would have disappeared forever from Fox River and all his shadows, Michael found out what had occurred, how she had gotten pricked with a hypodermic needle in the arm and had filled her body with hot poison, letting it consume her slowly, almost like what he was doing nightly, when he was thinking about her, except that then, Michael did not see it that way.

Then, that rainy and grey Tuesday when he found out about what had happened to her, Michael rented a car with his new and false identity card, and drove back to Chicago during hours, alone, without music, only with the sound of the windshield wiper against the crystal, he didn't even think that maybe a policeman would recognize him at the hospital, or that she wouldn't want to see him, or that perhaps, she wouldn't be able to.

That maybe that hot poison and the rest of his secrets, would have done forever with the control of her warm and small body, and now, maybe she was no more than that shell, precious but empty forever of her, on a hospital's bed.

He didn't come up with anyone of those options; Michael only drove in silence until the parking lot of the hospital and entered into the white and aseptic building through the front door.

And backed up in the door's wooden frame, he saw her at last.

Sara was sleeping underneath a green blanket, her body was rising up and going down slowly, with the rhythm of her breath, and that would have been enough proof to anyone, but not for Michael Scofield.

No.

He entered softly at the room 309, with his feline and silent walks, and stopped next to her bed, she was breathing by herself, without a respirator connected to her body, but she was really pale, much more than all those cold mornings when he was observing her with disguise, while she was moving with efficiency and provisional in that, now distant, infirmary.

Her hair was spread on the pillow and Michael thought again about how it would be to smell that on his own pillow, in his bed, have the smell of her raspberry shampoo at his side while he was sleeping.

But no, she was in that hospital's small bed, while he only could be there, looking at her in silence.

"_I shouldn't be here"._

That voice was repetitive time after time in his head and maybe it was right, perhaps having sold his soul in that place have a much more high price of which he never thought.

Because Michael would have done anything, whatever would have been necessary then to save his brother life, he just couldn't go on and let him die there.

Michael could load up with the tattoos impressed to fire in his skin and below it, with the scars, burns and with two less toes, any thing.

He could be sure that he would roast in hell forever if would have been of the ones that believe in it, but, regardless of everything, he couldn't get used to the idea of that, the sensation that he had then, next to that hospital bed, that he never was going to see her again.

It was that, above the rest of all things.

Above his burning fault, above the worry for her shape, over the illusion of being able to explain to her why he had done it, above all this, there was always the need to see her again.

"_Just one more time" _

Actually was him the one that was sounding like a damned drug-addict, as if she was some kind of secret and mortal addiction, because it was the desperation of not seeing her ever again, the one that made him drive through two countries and enter at full hospital in the daylight.

Actually Michael was there in that room less than ten minutes, but it seemed like ten lifetimes him, because Sara never woke up .

He waited during a long time until she finally opened her eyes, slowly and confused to see that he was there, to tell her that not all those cold and grey mornings, close to her at that infirmary, had been a lie, to say to her that he would have liked to tell her the truth then.

But he didn't do it.

In another life, surely he would have known her in the blockbuster of the corner of his block, close to the apartment building where she was living, he would have seen her, silent and distant, choosing movies for a rainy afternoons, and probably he never would have dared to talk with her.

But fate was a bitch and that had never occurred.

That rainy morning at the hospital brought him the faraway memories of his childhood again, Michael had spent years having nightmares with that, and in a moment, there they were again saying _"hello",_ all those memories of white and long corridors, with the penetrating smell of the disinfectant caught in the empty walls, the silence everywhere, like an invisible creature about to devour all, the white plastic chairs on what he and Lincoln waited while their mother was dying in a very similar room.

Then he was only six years, and he just could sense what was happening, but Michael saw it clearly in his brother's eye.

Because he was afraid, and Michael never had seen Lincoln scared.

But now, he was there, again, in her apartment, very near his former neighbourhood, in a warm room full of shades and with her familiar and addictive smell among the sheets, how if an invisible and almighty powerful force drags him always there.

How if it drag the both of them there.

-"Sara... I shouldn't be here."

-"No...You should leave."

Her soft voice slipped by the dark room's walls, as if those words were made out of sharpened shades that were sneaking softly underneath the furniture, waiting to catch and jump on them at the smallest oversight.

And maybe it was true.

Perhaps they were forced to revive that moment time after time, perhaps the goodbyes were their specialty, the words unsaid, the angry and disappointed glances, the silences weighed around them, stealing their air each minute, and poisoning them with doses of slow and warm poison that they were now.

Perhaps they were trapped in that ring of fire forever, without could have had a normal life, and without wanted do it.

-"Sara… "

Her name left his mouth before having thought of how he would finish that sentence, because they both knew what was going to happen now.

What was going to happen again.

- "I do not want to hear it Michael.

Whatever it might be, I do not want to hear it."

Her voice sounded cold and decided close to him, under the blankets, like that last and distant morning at the infirmary.

It wasn't about the forgiveness or the fault, it never had anything to do with it, and it was always the fragile and confused feeling of trust and loneliness between them.

He breathed the smell of her hair spread on the pillow next to him; Michael wished to close his eyes again and just sleep there, to check if the nightmares could also find him there, in her bed.

But as usually, Sara had made a decision, and he didn't have to worry by the impossible work to say good-bye to her forever.

Again.

The one and only light that was at the room, was the one that was filtered for the half-open blind's, yellowish light of the steam-driven sodium lamps at the sidewalk.

All air hung and warm in the room smelt of sex, despaired and possessive, like every time that they saw each other.

Tonight, like usually, he had been expecting during hours in front of her apartment, at the sidewalk, only to wait to see her enter at last, and to see how the light of her room at the fourth floor was lighting up, and then, there was when he was calling to the automatic-doorman and she was not answering.

Because she never was answering, she just was opening her portal's weighed door, and Michael was rising, silent and furtive, at the elevator.

It had been that way since the first time that he appeared there, only a week after having visited her that morning at the hospital.

Michael hadn't planned it and he doesn't even know what he was going to tell her, but he just hadn't been able to more and he had gone back to Chicago.

"_Just one more time"_

Then he never thought up that it would be so easy, that simply he would call and she would open the door unknowingly that it was him.

Or perhaps Sara knew it; maybe she knew it even sooner than him.

She never was asking around and he never was answering, and they were doing that over eight months.

Every time that Michael couldn't handle it more, he was driving his car at full speed until his former neighbourhood and was waiting hours and hours at her apartment's sidewalk across the street.

Maybe only to see if she would open the door this time.

Each time.

It wasn't a firm norm either. They were having a habitual routine, simply they couldn't avoid it.

And although they would have been able to, they just didn't want to.

"_And WHY where you opening the door every time?"_

That wasn't a consolation, it was the worse excuse of all that both had invented themselves in all this time, and there had been many.

The fact that Sara opened the door every time that he was calling, without caring about the hour of early morning that it were, knowing that he would get on her apartment and that passion would devour them, dragging them along again and without meaning to avoid it, to that situation of hot- poison on the skin, knowing that they would have whispers broken by the desire, her soft breath in his ear, guilty apologies and furious kisses, knowing that they would make love desperately on the dining table, and after that, there were only weighed silences and cold sweat stuck over the skin, wet sheets...

And after that only would be left the fakes goodbyes and the air burning in their lungs, poisoning the room, and poisoning them.

Again.

All that was horrible, painful and wonderfully addictive, like if no one want to break the circle of fire that had caught them, the words whispered and the inflamed kisses left ardent and invisible marks on their skin during days, the smell of her shampoo caught on his hands, the furious and cold goodbyes that stole them the air every time that it was clearing, but still, regardless of everything, that had become their "relation."

Brutal, needy and desperate, but they didn't have any other option

Maybe they never had it, and the worst thing of whole, was that it didn't care them.

And that used up "_If you didn't open the door" _it wasn't working anymore, since one night when Michael was at the sidewalk across the street of her apartment, waiting for her, and he saw how Sara was coming into her home with another man.

That far night Michael had seen how they were waiting in the crystal door of her portal, and how she was looking lazily for the keys in her purse, while he saw the mouth of that stranger close to her ear and his hand around her waist.

Some minutes later, Michael saw how the light in the fourth floor was lighting up, exactly her bedroom's window.

Then he thought about one million different things, in only one second Michael passed to the desperate jealousy at the relief, dark and guilty, of that voice in his brain repeating him without rest: "_You shouldn't be here."_

He thought that he had to get to that room and have a talk with her, explaining to Sara that he never wanted the things to go in this way, that maybe they may be saved yet.

But he didnt.

Because Michael knew that it didn't care anymore, that it would be impossible that she will understand that this time was different to the others, that the desperate and hot kisses on her skin were not motivated only for the shared loneliness or the conventional lust, he would have liked that she know that he was having just discovered that it didn't matter.

Because at that point he unveiled that Sara could make anything, anything in the world like taking up another man to her home and slept with him, letting those other hands, and not his, get snagged in her hair, feeling another's wet and hot kisses on her shoulder's skin... Anything, and even it nothing would change, because he was still keeping on at her house's sidewalk, in the dark, thinking about that damn and horrible stranger that had dared to offer to her the normal and quiet life that she never would have at his side.

And that depressed him.

Even more.

Michael waited for more than three hours at that sidewalk and he never saw the stranger leave.

Michael left when he couldn't stand more, when he thought that he really would get on that apartment in the fourth floor with the light turned on, and that he would embrace every centimeter of her skin with his hot mouth and with his blurred words, until she would understand.

It wasn't exactly like if that night Michael discovered that he loves her, he already knew that, he knew it since that time in what he entered, covered with blood and broken, at that distant and cold infirmary, and his shaky hands mixed with hers, and he knew it when he said:_ "Don't make me lie to you... please"_

Please.

He knew it then, and he knows it now, but this was nothing to do with love.

He had to do with the instinct, the pure instinct opposed to the logic, in front of the plan.

Because that always defeated him when it had to do with her.

And after that night, after Michael see that stranger going in to her apartment, he took long almost one month in returning there again, in front of her building, close to his former neighborhood

A whole month asking himself what she would be doing now, if she would be lying flat in her bed, undressed next to that man, or if she no longer was remembering how her name was sounding said by him in the early in the morning, among warm and desperate whispers upon her skin, and if occasionally, she would open the door again if he was calling back.

But a month later there he was again, in front of her apartment, and all began in the same way, Michael called and she opened the door without a word.

And there they were again, both dragged along to that obsessive game that they would never be able to win.

When she opened her apartment's door Michael entered quietly and kissed her, he simply closed his eyes and let his mouth return to get accustomed to her familiar and addictive warmth; he kissed her like if he expected for that stranger to interrupt them.

Michael slid his hands over the blue shirt that she was wearing and he felt her warm skin underneath the fabric, his hands climbed her back to her face, he kissed her near her little ear, while he was remembering how that strange man that he saw going home with her, that probably he had done something similar upon her skin; Michael felt furious and jealous, as if he have some right to, like if Sara had promised something to him.

Michael knew very well that every time that she was opening the door in silence, was like a sort of curse, sweet and sticky, but neither of them was wanting to escape.

He was understanding it, he was knowing that that only would last until she want to, that maybe some night Sara wouldn't open her door and he never could have said her _"Goodbye"._

But even so, he had to know it; although that meant crossing over the tacit limits that they agreed many nights back.

-"Sara… why do you open the door?"

And Michael was surprised at himself when he listened to his own voice, altered by his accelerated and hot breath upon her hair, he sounded quiet and broken, like if he was seeing again that man going in with her at her apartment.

-"Because I know that it's you.

I always know."

And that was the more similar to a confession that they had had until then.

----------------------------

That early morning, with the warm and familiar shade of her body sleeping at his side, so near that he could smell her skin, Michael kept on thought in what she had said before.

"_Because I know that it's you"_

Those words sounded like the best silent promise of all, and for the first time he thought that maybe he would be able to sleep there, just to see what would happen after, and after this, maybe some nights more.

And that was when, Michael thought for the first time that maybe, there could be a salvation for them.

To be continued….


	2. Lies

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara… lame but true.

Spoilers for all the first season.

Although English isn't my first language, Lisa makes this possible.

Thank you.

All the reviews are truly welcome.

Summary: After the escape Sara and Michael lives are still connected.

Title: Some nights.

By Lylou

--------------

When Sara opened her eyes, he wasn't there.

The fact is that she wouldn't have hoped to find him; it was too long that she already wasn't hoping to do it, but during a second after waking up, she always was thinking:

"_Maybe..."_

His autumn smell still hung suspended in the room like a distant memory, and the bed sheets still had his familiar and asphyxiating warmth.

But he wasn't there anymore.

Sara looked at the green numbers on her alarm-clock and saw that it was 10 a.m. Surely Michael was in his car, driven to where he was hidden to the whole world, including her.

Now Sara could only wait until he would miss her so much that he would risk it all to see her again.

But that always finished in the same way.

He must go away, must disappear again for the horizon every morning, as if her life was a fucking Hollywood movie.

She always promised herself that that was going to be the last time, that she would never open her door at midnight again, that she would stop comparing all the men that she knew with Michael... that she would search the way to have a normal life at last, and maybe, for the first time, Sara would permit to herself to be happy.

But all those good purposes were lasting too little in her mind depressed and still sleepy, because she knew very well they never would be able to escape the circle of fire and desperation in that they were trapped.

Sara wanted to laugh sadly but in she didn't get it, she thought that she could delay the breakfast awhile, she was not hungry, she just was feeling all the muscles of her body made numb by the tiredness that only causes the desperate sex. If she closed her eyes, Sara could even feel the invisible trail of his kisses, burning her skin, his smell trapped among her hair, his hands over her body... all those sensations always were slow to vanish.

Even sometimes, before they would sleep together, Sara could feel his greenish look running over her at the supermarket, in the video-club or while she was going back to her apartment at nights.

At the beginning she always turned around, searching for his eyes of liquid fire among the people, but she never saw him.

And then, without knowing very well how, she just decided that he was really there, watching her, and she stopped turning around to search for him.

Like that cold morning at the hospital.

She knew it, when she woke up she knew without a doubt that Michael had been there.

Sara knew it because his smell was still trapped in the room, like after one of his night time visits. She knew it then because his silent words where still floating in the room, same as the electrons floating around before a big storm.

It was something that only she could know.

And now, eight months after all that, Sara knew that what they where doing was the least bad of all their options. They were living a voluntary tragedy.

Because she knew that an empty bed in the mornings and the smell of sex trapped in the air, was the closest thing to a normal life that they would never have.

And they both knew that it was the right thing because it hurts, and because every lonely morning was making them bleed and feeling dead.

Or desiring to be it.

--------------------

Michael was at his new home again.

He liked that house, that's why he had chosen it, because of that, and because of a million other paranoid reasons that seemed very important in the past, but then, when he was planning his breakout, it all seemed very simple.

Entering, and going out with Lincoln.

And now the familiar voice in his brain assaulted him without pity once again:

"_It doesn't seem so simple anymore...does it?"_

He crossed the garden and felt the intense smell of the sea-salt filling up his lungs, from where he was, Michael could see the sea. He perfectly knew that there were exactly twelve wooden steps of stair until the dock; he would have liked showing it to her.

He would have liked that Sara would have said this time: "_Take me with you."_

That she would have sat at his side in the car and would have trusted him enough to let him take her there, to begin a new and different life at his side.

But that would never happen.

Because Michael knew that it was one thing to make love desperately with him every time that he was going to see her, and another, very different, thing to gather up the trust that she needed to get up to his BMW and let him drag her along to his world again.

But Michael still had the blurred hope that maybe she would whisper it some early morning, when only the yellowish light of the streetlamps pass off from the window blinds, and Sara was a warm shade backed up against his own body, maybe then he would hear it:_ "Take me with you."_

But not.

Then Michael heard a car outside the fence and turned, he saw a dark suburban and he knew immediately who was there.

-"I came here yesterday… and you weren't"

His older brother smiled, with more love than humor, and walked to the fence that opened again.

-"I know, sorry... I had something important to do."

-"Sure..."

Again he looked at Michael, with that mixture of melancholy and affection that Lincoln always looked at him whenever he needed it.

Michael liked feeling like the younger brother, and he realized that he was feeling the same overflowing and needy love that he always felt for his older brother when they were children.

-"And… How is she?"

-"I don't know what you are talking about Linc..."

Michael turned around and began to walk toward the house, followed by his brother.

-"Sure…

I never had asked this to you Michael, but you thanked her, right?

We wouldn't be here now if it weren't for her"

-"Yes... I thanked her."

Again that melancholic look of the ones that have looked too much into the abyss, that only they two could understand.

-"You no longer offer a coffee to the invitees?"

-"Technically Linc, you are not an invitee"

Michael smiled, probably for the first time all day, and entered into the kitchen.

-"How is LJ?"

-"You know, being a teenager sucks, the most of the time he just hates me."

-"Tell him... that everything could have been worse

Lincoln smiled slowly and his look went away in his brother, who was standing close to the wooden worktop, waiting for the coffee maker to begin its work.

-"Normally he is annoyed with me, or he blames me, or I discover him crying over while he watches Grey's Anatomy …"

The two brothers laughed in the kitchen while the coffee was beginning to smell, and for a second, both seemed like children again, like if they never would have had to become strong and sad.

-"He adores you Linc, you just... give him some time."

-"Time is all that we have, isn't it?

... Sometimes I feel as if we never would have gotten away from that place."

-"I know ... but we did."

-"Yes... and how are you Michael?"

-"I'm... fine."

-"Of course, I forgot that you are always well."

Michael smiled with no humor and caught two cups off his new and impersonal kitchen's wardrobe, which had filled with the newly made coffee smell, and then Lincoln could see how his brother's look was going away at the Pacífic through the window.

-"Do you regret Michael?

Do you sometimes regret breaking me out of there?"

Michael looked in silence at his brother and his voice sounded low but sure when he talked:

-"Never…

But some nights I think that I would have liked having had another option then."

-"You didn't have it... and you don't have it now."

-"I know, but I would like that she know it."

-"She knows it Michael."

-"Do you believe that the things will be different sometimes Lincoln?"

-"Things always change, and nobody, not even you, can prevent it.

It's the only thing of what I am sure of in this world Michael."

-"... Do you ever think of how your life would be, if you hadn't entered into that garage that night?"

Lincoln smiled slowly and looked at his brother.

- "Every day.

I always think about how it would it all be now, how our lives would be if I hadn't of gone that night to blow up the brain of that miserable man.

But I know one thing now Michael, if it wouldn't have been of that way, it would have been another.

I was in the final countdown Michael."

-"... You never had told it to me before."

-"I was stupid Michael but I would do it again, because it was a very small price for my son's life."

Michael looked through the window to the ocean, and asked himself what she would be doing right now.

Maybe she would be thinking about him, damning him or missing him desperately, or maybe she would be naked close to another man.

"_We wouldn't be here now if it weren't for her."_

Michael smiled, but his brother's words were suspended in his kitchen's air a few seconds more.

Michael was good with the numbers, the possibilities and the obsessive calculations, but his brother was the specialist in the people, and it had always been this way.

Lincoln had a special skill for people, which was very ironic because his personal relations always had been a disaster.

-"Linc... you sound like a fortune cookie."

Lincoln smiled and looked at Michael, like if he has discovering fot the first time, that his little brother was an adult man, and not a little boy persecuted by the nightmares.

-"We got it Michael."

-"Yes... we got it."

-----------------------

The storm and the warm rain were beating the window and the terrace's door without pity, Michael had left the blinds opened trying, unsuccessfully, to combat intense heat.

He could sense the familiar furniture around when some lightning was quickly illuminating the room.

It was hot.

A lot.

Wet hot aggravated brutally by the storm outside, and Michael already was resigned to stay another night without sleep, for the third time that week."

He had gotten accustomed to the signals.

The unequivocal signals that made him known when he was the moment to take his BMW and drive to Chicago again, crossing a country and half other in silence, to wait among the shades of sidewalk across the street of her apartment.

Too much heat.

With the new and fleeting shine of a new flash of lightning, Michael could see all his clothing scattered to the bed's feet, but that disorder of clothing was nothing compared to the one that was on the floor of her apartment every time he went to visit her.

Those nights his clothes were spread, furious and desperate, all over the floor.

But now only was there, useless, like to remind him that she wasn't there, that she

would never be.

But sometimes, in stormy nights like that, Michael turned around insomniac in his big and empty bed, and during a second, he always was hoping to find her there.

And then he only was missing her more.

And he was hating her.

And hating himself.

His body wanted to sleep, but his brain wasn't agreeing, so he opened the terrace's door and went out with the useless hope to breathe some fresh air.

He felt the cold and humid tiles below his bare feet, and a chill climbed lazily at

his back.

He could see the Pacific perfectly from there, at the end of the wooden steps of stair that they were gnashing when he was getting down to the beach's little dock, he liked that house, it wasn't too wrong to be another prison..

The rain was warm and sticky, so much that Michael wasn't almost able to feel his own skin getting wet under the water; he closed his eyes slowly and thought about her again. He thought if it would be raining right now in Chicago, if Sara would be also seeing the humid land, lighting up magically, for the intense and electric light of the bolts of lightning.

But Michael thought that that was impossible, he sincerely was thinking that she wasn't like him, that Sara wasn't having to look out the terrace in a stormy night, to feel alive.

Michael was not knowing, or wasn't wanting to know, that Sara was also wanting to run and to hide.

The thud of a thunder close to him scared Michael, and he felt again like his first night in Fox River, the place that had stolen it all from himself.

Or almost all.

-----------------------------------

Sara hated Christmas.

Since... always, even when she was a little girl, those dates made her feel unhealthily lonely.

She never had known what he was to meet like a family, the gifts, and the decorations... all that always had been extraneous to her, like if it was a stop at a station that the "honourable" Tancredi family had never stopped at.

And every year, as soon as was approaching the date and she was beginning to see the streets adorned Sara only was wanting to run and to hide, to vanish to maybe quit feeling so... lonely.

What was the Christmas like where he was?

In all those months of desperate visits at midnight, Sara never asked him where or with who he was living now.

Sara didn't want to know anything about his new life, like if he was two different men, one that left needy and warm kisses on her skin, and the other, the one that was vanishing before she woke up and may say "_Good-bye."_.

She never had asked and he never answered, Sara wasn't a jealous woman, especially under those circumstances, although imagining Michael's familiar and warm mouth, sliding on a skin that wasn't hers, produced the feeling of the biggest loneliness that she ever had felt.

But in spite of that, she would have understood it.

She wasn't precisely in a position to judge him.

Because she was sleeping accompanied almost three nights a week, she wasn't exactly in love with him, but the sex was good, and even more important, when she was with him, Sara always felt herself a little less lonely.

And he seemed to be a solitary man too, solitary and mysterious.

He was called Jack and she had known him at the coffee shop of her block's corner, five months before.

Sara didn't remember seeing him there before, but one day, there he was, charming, nice, sweet... just too good to be true.

Just... like Michael.

And for that reason she began to suspect.

She was tired of being broken and used by the different men in her life, beginning with her father, that had abandoned her since she was little girl, and ending with Michael, who had flipped her life and her world upside down with his greenish look and his warm voice.

And she didn't even want to think about the rest of the men that disappointed her.

Sara was tired of all that crap, and that is why, when she had met Jack she made the decision that it never would happen anymore to her.

And that's why she investigated him; she spied and followed him during days.

She was lying to a man and letting him lie to her too.

It wasn't like if she had a job or a career waiting for her, and it was different being in the other side of the lie for once, and that how Sara had discovered months ago, that Jack wasn't Jack, but a secret service agent called Paul Kellerman.

To be continued...


	3. Confusion

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara… lame but true.

Spoilers for all the first season.

Although English isn't my first language, Lisa is great and makes this possible.

Thank you.

Any mistakes that remain are my own.

Summary: Sometimes, just the faith isn't enough.

Title: Some nights.

I really appreciate all of the feedback and reviews that I have received.

By Lylou

----------------------

-"Jack... every time that you are not with me... How is your life?

-"...Complicated.

And yours?"

Sara felt her lover's hand playing with her hair, thrown around the pillow, and could sense him smiling in the dark room, their voices where low and sleepy.

-"Lonely".

-"Do you feel less lonely now?"

-"No"

-"...How do you think this could end Sara?"

-"I never think about the future... "

Of course, that wasn't true.

Sara couldn't help it but she was always thinking about her crappy love life, about her awful decisions, and about the future.

And about Michael.

Mostly about him.

Maybe it was all her fault; maybe she was unable to have normal relations with men.

The relationship with her father was dysfunctional and painful, always, since she was just a little girl Sara always had obsessively looked for his approval, and when she was not having it, the need was even more desperate.

And one day, long time ago she thought:_ "Would he really miss me, if I die right now?"_

And that's how Sara took drugs for the first time.

In a sordid and noisy bar, with a man that never cared about her.

Like all the others.

"_But maybe Michael..."_

That voice in her mind again... she really didn't want to think about it, but she was playing a dangerous game.

She was spying on a spy.

And sleeping with him.

And with Michael.

Jack, or Paul, or whatever his fucking name was, wanted to find, and surely, kill Michael and Lincoln.

Sara had known it all almost since the beginning, but she had followed with the lie, because she likes the self-destruction's bitter aftertaste in the mouth, but she knew too that all that, couldn't end all right.

Especially for her.

But the strangest thing of all was that he never asked anything about her, Jack never asked about her former work at Fox River, or about her relation with the cons... He just was there, being freaking normal.

At the beginning, during weeks after she had slept with Jack for the first time, Sara was always waiting for Michael to appear in the middle of the night to try to save her, again.

But it never happened.

Maybe he didn't even know it, or maybe, he knows it but it didn't matter to him.

He didn't owe anything to her, and she never wanted his apologies, they were free since the beginning of their particular mess, but they couldn't run away and move on.

And now, it was even more and more complex, with Jack or Paul sleeping with her, going to the cinema together, pretending to have a normal and healthy relation...

It was dangerous and freaking strange, she liked Jack, Sara liked being with him, he was interesting and nice, except for the part of the lie and the manipulation.

Just like Michael.

"_And it's killing me know that you are never gonna believe that"_

-"Sara... is something wrong?"

-"No... I was just thinking..."

She was going to add some more, but the tone of a cellular phone sounding below their clothing thrown in the ground, distracted her.

It was Jacks phone.

-"... I have to answer, sorry."

Sara felt how he was getting up from bed to find his phone under their clothes and then she knew it.

She knew that everything was about to change.

It was like looking at a bomb, and she couldn't run away.

Sara knew then that everything was going to start with that call, and she was just there, naked in her bed, listening to Paul's low voice in her hall.

The time of the lies has ended, and all she could do now, was have some faith.

-"I have to go... I ...

Sorry Sara."

-"Is everything okay?"

He quit dressing for a second and he looked at her, like if, for the first time, he would have thought that she was acquainted of more than he belived.

Sara felt a shiver in her back, and wished to be thousands of kilometers away from there.

-"No... it's fine.

I'm sorry Sara."

-"Don't worry, I'll be fine"

There was that look again, he was obviously suspecting something but Sara wasn't sure of what.

Then he left a fast kiss on her cheek and she heard her apartment's door closing a few seconds later.

She was alone again.

Then she felt terribly lonely and sad.

But most of all, Sara felt scared.

It was like if her own bed wasn't a safe place anymore, sleeping with the enemy, with one of them, was dangerous, she knew it the first time, but it was the only way of being part of the lie for one time.

Because Sara was tired of being only a piece of a giant domino about to fall, piece by piece.

That's why she was doing something like that.

Because of that, and because of Michael.

Sara doesn't want them to murder him, wherever he was, and that she never find out.

It was too sad.

Even for them.

Sara began to get dressed; outside was snowing again, so she grabbed her black coat and left her home in the middle of that cold night.

------------------------------------------------

Something was wrong.

Michael was beating on Sara's apartment door for the last ten minutes.

But she wasn't there.

It was past 1 a.m. but she wasn't there. Hundreds of horrible possibilities crossed his mind immediately. Maybe she was with HIM right now, maybe making love at his home now.

It hurt him just to think about it.

Sara didn't owe anything to him, she never had promised to him a fucking "Happily ever after" but just the thought of the other man caressing her skin, kissing her warm body at midnight and making love to her, was more than Michael could stand.

And he could stand a lot.

But thinking of her, with that damn and normal man, was killing him slowly.

Maybe he deserved it, maybe he deserved even more.

Had she forgiven him?

Surely he should walk away in the cold night and never come back again, get away from that door, and from her, as much as he was able.

And when he was about to get in the elevator and never come back again Michael lheard familiar steps behind him and turned.

And there she was.

With her hair messy and dabbled by snowy flakes about to melt, her cheeks less pale than normal, and her eyes shining more than any of those far mornings at the infirmary.

But Michael's voice sounded colder than he would have wanted.

-"Where have you been?"

-"... Why?"

-"I was ... worried"

-"You don't have any right to be it Michael."

Then he pushed her back against the wall, and kissed her.

Angry and desperately.

Michael felt the familiar warmth of her mouth intoxicating him; he was so near that he could almost breathe her air.

His hands stopped embracing her face and descended slowly and possessively, over her body, down to her hips, and Sara felt how he pushed her harder against the wall.

Suddenly her soft mouth separated some painful centimeters from his, and when she spoke, their lips were almost touching and Michael could feel her hot breath over his own skin when she whispered:

-"That's your new plan Michael?

Are you going to fuck me at my building's corridor?"

-"Maybe."

Michael looked for her apartment's keys in her coat pockets, his eyes were staring upon her, like if he was trying to make her feel guilty, guilty to have accepted him in her life again.

It wasn't her fault, and Michael knew it, but he was angry, and jealous, and scared.

Because Michael knew then that he has to tell her _"good-bye_", and that frightened him most of all.

It was going to be the last time.

Michael opened the door at least and they came in, their bodies were still too close when she closed the door.

-"Michael... I know we are not accustomed, but we need to talk"

Her voice was low and serious, too much for Michael under their current circumstances, mostly when that familiar voice in his brain spoke again: _"She is going to leave you, like everybody that you love, she is going to move on finally, and are never going to kiss her again"_

-"I don't want to talk."

Michael kissed her, more deeply than before.

He didn't want to talk, he just wanted to be there, kissing her, getting his hands underneath her blouse and touching her warm skin, squeezing her small body against his, knowing already, that the most probable, was that he never would see her again.

Suddenly he felt her hands, small and cold, fighting blindly with the buttons of his pants.

Maybe, if he was able to keep her entertained enough, Sara wouldn't be able to leave him that night.

The smell of her strawberry shampoo was all over the dark room now, and over his hands, and the familiar and warm smell of her skin was intoxicating him and Michael knew then, that he never would need any other person, so much as he always needed her.

And she was going to leave him.

Maybe, that night.

--------------------------------

Like usually, when Sara opened her eyes, he wasn't there.

His smell was still trapped in the room and under the sheets, but Michael wasn't there anymore.

The last night had been rare, first that unusual call at Paul's phone, then her necessity to take a walk on one of the coldest nights of the year, to make a decision about what she should have done.

She must tell Michael, he needed to know that they were up to something, and maybe, she should have told him how she had found it out.

Maybe.

But Michael was there, waiting for her at the corridor, angry and sexy, like she had never seen him before.

It always was hard to resist Michael's liquid glance ever her body, but the last night it had turned out to be impossible thing for her.

Now she should continue with the lie, with all the lies, until he come back some night.

Sara was mentally flagellating herself when she saw a sheet of paper on the pillow.

Her eyes passed over the paper over and over again, until she was convinced of what was written on it.

"_I hope that you will forgive me, until then, I want you to know that I'm still sorry._

_Goodbye."_

Sara felt the tears in her eyes and a knot in her stomach.

Michael had abandoned her.

Again.

The pain and the sadness, turned rapidly into fury and anger inside her.

Maybe she still could catch him, maybe he wasn't too far.

Sara walked until her apartment door, but before that she came to, her door opened suddenly and two men entered.

And she knew it.

Sara tried to run away, but before having gone three steps, something strong hit her in the nape and made her fall to the floor. She still could hear some footsteps in her direction but then everything turned black.

To be continued...


	4. Interlude

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara, not even Kellerman… lame but true.

Spoilers for all the first season.

Although English isn't my first language, Lisa is great and makes this possible.

Thank you.

Any mistakes that remain are my own.

Summary: Sometimes, just the faith isn't enough.

Title: Some nights.

I really appreciate all of the feedback and reviews that I have received... Please keep them coming!

By Lylou

----------------------

-"You what!"

-"I don't have to talk with you about this Lincoln"

-"Of course you have to!

... You are really cold sometimes Michael, she... "

-"It's not your business Lincoln.

I always do what I have to do."

-"You keep saying that Michael, but that's not true.

And yes, it is my fucking business."

They were in the always lonely beach, where Michael's new house was, the sun was beating them without pity and the Pacific Ocean never had seemed more blue and brilliant to Michael.

Lincoln realized that his brother was no longer on the defensive, and he talked again, this time, slowly and without shouting:

-"When Veronica died..."

-"Lincoln...I"

-"Let me finish, okay?

I just...I couldn't help her Michael.

And every damn night, I can't help to think "_What if..."_

-"Sara is not going to die..."

-"I'm not only talking about death Michael... I think she needs you around."

-"No... She is much better without me…"

-"I guess, you will never know it now."

-----------------------------------

She heard low voices near her.

Someone was talking in the room.

Her head was killing her, Sara could feel dull pain somewhere, she tried to open her eyes but her eyelids were weighed and gummy, like if something warm had been spilt on them.

It was disgusting, and she could feel intensive pain now, but most of all, Sara felt the fear.

When finally she opened her eyes, she realised that she was tied to something.

She was tied to a chair.

Her hair was stuck to her forehead and Sara could feel her heart beating to her in the temples.

The last few memories that she had, crowded in her mind, while her breath was dangerously beginning to accelerate.

Michael angry at her door, sleeping with him... the note.

Then she knew it.

It was happening.

Paul had discovered her, she remembered the call on his cellular phone, and the strange look in his eyes... the game was over for her.

Without really knowing how, Sara realized that it was blood.

The warm thing over her left eye was blood, her own blood silently running away from her body.

Now she was really scared.

More than she ever had been before.

Even more than that far morning, when the prison turned into a hell and she believed that she would die in that room full of smoke.

Until HE appeared to save the day, like a fucking hero.

But Michael wasnt there now.

The room was dark, but her eyes had become accustomed already and she could see two men standing by the door.

They were no longer talking.

Sara felt dizzy and her mouth was dry, surely, because of the fear, but even so, her voice sounded much more decided so than she had thought.

-"I'm Sara Tancredi!

Do you even know who my father is!"

One of those men got close to her, so much, that Sara was able to smell his after-shave lotion, she tried to move, but the cuffs of her wrists turned over an acute pain to her.

-"Your father asked us to ... help you."

-"Help me?"

Her voice sounded broken and confused, maybe it was just a big and awful mistake; her father was unable to send the secret service to "Help her."

Right?

-"What do you want from me?

Tell me!"

-"Please, calm down Ms. Tancredi."

-"I'm a U.S. citizen and you ..."

- "You don't have rights here, do you understand?"

Sara was going to reply, but then, the metal door opened letting the corridor light enter the room.

And there he was.

-"I can handle it from here.

Thank you gentleman."

The two men with dark suits abandoned the room in silence.

-"Hi Paul."

He looked at her in silence one moment before talking, slowly and a bit surprised:

-"... Hi Sara."

-"If you think that I'm going to say anything to you, it's that you are even sillier than I am."

-"I know, that is why I'm here".

-"And how is this going to be Paul... Are you going to give me electric discharges? Or the classic bamboo underneath my fingernails?"

-"No one... I'm taking you out of here."

----------------------------

-"It's not going to happen Paul..."

-"You will have to trust me Sara... because they want you dead."

Sara felt the cold and sharpening December wind on her skin and among her hair, but it wasn't enough to clear her.

Her head was killing her, it hurts more than anything, the dry blood over her eye and the hit were making her feeling dizzy and weak.

With the intense pain and cold over her body every second, Sara began to think that she was going to need medical attention, but however, there she was, hurt, cold, and scared like hell, knowing that surely, it was one of the most difficult and hard moments in her life, she wanted to run and hide, but she was not willing to let him notice it.

-"Paul... do you really think that he just has given me his phone number?

I do not have a way to get in touch with him."

-"Sara... I know that is not true

...But you don't have to die tonight"

Sara sighed, she knew perfectly how to locate Michael, but she isn't going to call him from a damn telephone booth, just with the promise of her lover, and secret service agent, to let them go.

-"I hope that you have a plan B, because is not going to happen Paul.

I'm not going to betray Michael"

-"I know, and I don't want you to do it... you just have to go Sara, you are a hinder for them, they are going to kill you."

-"I can disappear by my own way... You don't even need to see Michael for that Paul,

Why do you want him to come for me?"

-"I need to be sure Sara, if they catch you again... well, they are not really kind sometimes."

She touched slowly the hit on her head and the pain raised fast over her body.

-"Yeah... I noticed it, but why are you doing this Paul?"

-"I have my own reasons ... And maybe I'm tired of that crap"

-"The answer is still no...

I don't believe you Paul."

He smiled without humor and bent down a bit. Then he took out one gun of little caliber from his shoe, and gave it to her.

-"And now?"

Sara opened the loader and could saw that it wasn't anything fishy.

She knew enough about guns, her father used to take her to hunt when she was a little girl, apparently, the good senator believed that nothing could make a little girl happier than to see dead animals.

-"I'm going to tell him everything Paul."

-"Please... Do it"

Sara kept the gun and walked alone until the telephone booth, all under the attempt Paul's look, then she marked the nine numbers that she knew from memory since almost ten months ago, and the phone began to sound at the other side.

-----------------------------------

Michael surprised to hear the sound of the telephone at his large and almost empty living room, he was not accustomed thereto.

He dropped off on the sofa the book that he was reading, and picked up the receiver, but Michael delayed a second more than normal before answering.

-"...Yes?"

-"Michael, ...it's Sara."

She could see her breath blurring the phone booth crystal and sighed a moment before saying the next sentence.

-"I don't want to bother you but... I think that I need help."

-"Are you okay?"

His voice sounded low and nervous at thousands kilometers of distance to her, and then Sara wished, more than ever, to have said him _"Take me with you"_ some far night.

-"No... I mean, yes but I have a... situation here."

-"But you are fine?"

-"... More or less."

-"Sara..."

-"I'm fine, but there is someone here, a secret service agent and he..."

-"Has he hurt you?"

-"No... Actually, he has helped me… or something, but he wants you to come here to... to take me with you..."

Sara didn't hear anything for a second at the other side of the line and she got scared, so much, that she thought that he had just hung up, and that she was going to stay there, frozen, dizzy and holding the receiver like a stupid.

-"I'm sorry Michael... maybe I shouldn't have called you..."

-"Please... don' say that"

His voice sounded familiar and warm for the first time since the beginning of their conversation, it was just like all those nights, when she couldn't sleep and he was in her bed, next to her, whispering softly stories under the sheets, about how was his life before he entered Fox River.

Sara could even remember Michael's hot breath upon her hair at the darkness of her room.

-"You want me to come to your place?"

-"No... Michael listen to me, do you remember that story that you told me once, about a lake where the people believed that there is a magical fish, that can concede wishes, and how every full moon night everybody would try to fish for it.

... Do you remember that story Michael?"

Of course he remembered.

Michael had told her about it the first night of insomnia, while he was at her apartment for the first time, and after having made love desperately to her for the first time.

And his voice sounded a bit broken and sad when he spoke again:

-"... Yes... I remember that story."

-"Meet me there... within twelve hours?

-"How about ten?"

-"Ten is fine... Thank you"

-"Sara... are you sure that you are okay?"

-"Actually... I'm not."

Her voice seemed to vanish along the thousands kilometers of the telephone cable.

-"...I'll be there Sara."

-"I know."

To be continued...


	5. Downfall

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara, not even Kellerman… lame but true.

Spoilers for the second season..

Summary: Sometimes, the faith isn't enough.

Title: Some nights

Notes: Although English isn't my first language, Lisa is great and makes this possible.

Thank you.

Any mistakes that remain are my own.

The coincidence between my story, and direction that the show has taken, it's just that, a curious coincidence.

I really appreciate all of the feedback and reviews that I have received... Please keep them coming!

By Lylou

-------------------------------

-"You are not going to tell me where we are going?"

-"Wow... Now I know why you are a secret service agent Paul"

-"Look, Sara..."

-"Believe me, I have heard all that crap of_ "Look Sara"_ before... and I don't trust men who say that anymore Paul... You are wasting your time."

He sighed and looked through the small window of the car again.

Outside was complete darkness and the landscape was passing at full speed at the other side of the glass.

They had left behind already two states, and Sara was still driving at lightning speed.

-"But you trust him?"

Sara smiled sadly before answering:

-"You know Paul... Both of you are damn similar.

The two of you have lied and used me, but however, you hope that I trust blindly in you... just like him"

-"He can't make you happy?"

-"If you hadn't still noticed it Paul... I'm not the happiest person in this world."

-"Yeah... I have noticed it...

You want me to drive for awhile?"

-"No, I'm fine"

-"Sara, you are hurt, confused and ..."

-"Stop it Paul... It's not going to work."

-"Why are you mad at me Sara... I mean, you were lying to me too, you knew who I was and what I was doing..."

Sara pressed her lips during a second. Yes, she had known who he was almost since the beginning.

Why was she getting surprised now?

-"Paul... How did you think all this was going to finish?"

-"... It is complicated Sara, when I was with you... I was not thinking thereon, never"

-"Sure... I almost forget the _"Being with you"_ part."

Her voice sounded more hurt than she would have wanted him to know, because Sara could still remember that last and cold morning at the infirmary, when Michael said something very similar to that.

She did not believe in him then, and did not believe in Paul now.

-" Why don't you trust me?

I have risked my work and my life to help you, I have given you a gun... and you don't believe me yet...

What did he do to make you believe him?"

She did not answer.

Sara was feeling stupid enough already, without having to explain it aloud.

-"Then... if I'm wrong Paul, if you are one of the good guys now...

Why are you doing this?"

-"I always had known that Lincoln was innocent but... They never told me Sara, they never told me that Stedman was alive, that all was just a fucking lie."

Sara looked at him in silence, wondering for the first time, if he was telling her the truth.

-"...I have done many things that I'm not proud of but I always believed that it was for my country ... and now, I don't know what to think...

But I know that you don't have to die for a lie Sara."

-"... And Michael?"

Paul looked at Sara in silence during a second, and next, he looked through the window again, without answering.

--------------------------------------

Michael was driving his BMW at full speed when he crossed the imaginary line that divided Mexico and US.

He was doing more than eight hours at the wheel and Michael had left behind one whole country.

Michael knew that he could do that journey with closed eyes; he had drived (driven) like a maniac many other nights through the dusky desert only to arrive to Chicago.

But he not always had knocked at her door after; sometimes he stayed looking at her bedroom's window during hours, like a bug attracted by the light.

By her light.

Hours ago, her voice at the other side of the phone line had sounded trembling and fragile, she wasn't terrified then but Sara never would have called him if it wouldn't have been really necessary, specially, after their last _encounter._

Michael trembled remembering how had been their last hours together.

He waiting for her, like a jealous boyfriend, at her floor's landing, pushing her against the wall, letting his hands slide softly under her weighed coat, kissing her desperately, embracing her confused and warm mouth with his own, like if it was going to be the last time that he could have kiss her.

It had been like drowning in her, like if all the air trapped in that corridor, smells suddenly like Sara Tancredi, and Michael knew that he would have made love to her just there if she would have let him.

"_What do you want from me Michael?"_

THAT was the damn question.

Michael thought about his brother again, now Lincoln always seems... sad.

All the time.

Lincoln never talked about Veronica, or about how she was dead and buried somewhere, and about how his brother was a bit dead and buried too since that day.

Now there was something floating always at his brother's glance, a mixture of melancholy and sadness.

Both of them had lost too much.

And Sara... she was the last thing that made him feel like something more than a shadow.

Michael heard his brother's words again, and they scared him.

They scared him, because it was the damn truth.

"_-You are burying yourself too Michael... slowly and fucking fine."_

He stopped the car.

Michael had arrived finally.

It was cold.

In spite of being New Mexico, the desert wind was sharp and implacable at nights.

Mainly, near the lake.

He had told her that story more than ten months ago, the first time that he had felt her warm and small body upon his own, the first night that he had slept next to her, with her hair thrown around the pillow.

She wasn't there.

Her voice had sounded low and far when he had talk with her before, just like the last night that they had talked at her place, like when she had said_: "We need to talk"._

But he hadn't wanted to listen to her then.

He only had written a fucking note and to said _Goodbye _to her forever.

Again.

But now, alone and next to the lake that he would have liked to show her someday, all those memories seemed more and more far and blurred, the notes, the hot whispers under the bed sheets, the invisible trace of her saliva upon his skin, like a warm and addictive poison... his own name in her voice, broken by the desire at midnight...

All of those memories where vanishing, slow and painfully, because she wasn't there.

Michael felt a shiver, like the one that he had felt after picking up the receiver and listened to her pale and distant voice.

He had been an idiot.

What damn importance was having now all the sad looks, all the silences between them, all the sneaky goodbyes at daybreak?

All that was not important now because he had caught his car in the middle of the night without doubting it a second, and had driven during hours, leaving behind almost one and half country, to go to find her.

And Michael knew that he would have gone to the damn hell to find her if she would have asked.

And however, all the sharp silences, all the cold looks and the false goodbyes between them were still there.

But there he was, in the place that he would have like to show her if he would have been a free man.

"_-I still owe you a coffee."_

Michael had told that to her some nights before, while she was lying naked next to him, then he had thought, for the first time, that maybe there will be a _"happily ever after" _at the end for them.

But he was wrong.

They didn't have any other possibility, they never had it.

It was that or nothing.

He had spent hundreds of insomnia filled nights trying to understand it but finally he had known it.

There wasn't any hope for them, just... that.

Sadness, desperate kisses at midnights, the long goodbyes...

Suddenly Michael heard the sound of leaves breaking softly under the weight of, at least, two people.

And there she was.

There wasn't any artificial light there, only the one that the crescent moon was projecting on the lake, but it was enough to realize that Sara was having bad face.

She was pale, more than usually; her hair was uncombed and spattered with something that did not seem like blood with the faint light of the moon to Michael.

Sara was cold, she was rubbing her arms trying to heat up, and he could see how her breath was forming little clouds in the nocturnal wind.

And she never had seemed more breakable and lonely to Michael.

He wanted to embrace her and whisper that all was going to be fine now, put her into his BMW and drive, without looking back, until his new and cold house, which could be a little less new and cold with Sara there ...

But he couldn't.

There was a man standing at her side.

But not any man, he was the guy that he had seen entering into her apartment more than two times.

But Michael decided that he could think about that later, when he would have kissed her deeply.

That was the way of Michael Scofield was, just one priority each time.

The unknown guy stopped to a few meters his, and grabbed Sara by the arm, slowly, like if he was accustomed to doing it.

-"Sara... are you okay?"

She didn't answer but Michael knew it.

She wasn't, there was something in her glance, she was scared and cold, and a thousand things more.

The man next to her spoke finally:

-"She is angry. With you, with me, with her dad... with all the men on earth actually."

Michael looked at him in silence, just one second, he wasn't interested in him.

Michael just stretched out his hand to her and talked soft, with the same low voice that he uses to talk to her every night that he was in her bed.

-"Sara... come with me."

But before that she could take just a step, Paul took out a gun of his back, fast and professionally, and then he aimed at Michael and Sara's eyes filled up with terror and surprise.

-"No...! You promised to me Paul... "

-"I promised not to hurt you Sara... and I will want to keep that promise, so let me do what I have to do."

-"Paul..."

-"He deserves it!

He had ruined everything, he had ruined you, me... everything that I believed in...

He had played a game on you since the beginning Sara."

She tried desperately to free her wrist, but it only served to Paul grit her until she felt intensive pain.

-"Why don't you just let her go... I'm not going anywhere."

Michael's voice sounded exceptionally sad when he spoke.

He looked at her again; she was hurt, now he could see it.

She was pale and had dry blood in the hair, but the worst thing, was the way in what she was looking at him, like if she were saying _good-bye_ in silence to him.

Like if, for the first time, they were really going to say _Good-bye _to each other

But Michael knew very late was going to happen next to stop it.

Sara took out something from her pocket with her free hand, and Michael knew that it was a small gun, when it shone lightly under the moonlight in Sara's small hands, when she aimed at Paul.

-"Drop it! Drop it Paul!"

-"You will not get it Sara, you won't be able to shoot me fast enough... I just have to pull the trigger once."

Then an idea crossed behind her eyes, but neither of the men there found out then.

Sara stopped aiming Paul, and Michael could see how she propped the gun against her own temple.

Paul released her arm surprised and stopped aiming at Michael.

His voice sounded like a scared human for the first time since many years ago:

-"Sara... don't."

-"Sara please... Look at me..."

-"Shut up... both of you!

Drop your gun Paul... or I'll blow my brains all over the lake.

I swear."

-"He isn't worth the pain Sara."

-"It's not your business Paul... not anymore."

-"Sara please, he is right... drop the gun.

Please."

Michael walked slowly until where she was and saw her wet and confusing eyes dives in him.

She was so annoyed with him as usual, she was there, determined to blow off her brains just to save him, but she was keeping on without forgiving him.

That was the fucking essence of their relationship.

Michael stretched out his hand to her and he almost could touch her.

Almost.

Because then Paul turned, and before Michael know what was happening, he heard a shot.

The echo of the shot faded away in the wood and the chilled night time air smelled of gunpowder during a few seconds.

Next Michael saw how terrified Sara was, becoming paler, until he saw the blood that began to soak her green blouse.

To be continued...


	6. Pain

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara, not even Kellerman… lame but true.

Spoilers for the second season.

Summary: How save someone that doesnt want to be saved?

Title: Some nights

Dedicated: To Lisa, who makes this possible.

Thank you so much.

Any mistakes that remain are my own.

Note: I really appreciate all of the wonderful feedback and reviews that I have received, so please, keep telling me what you think about my story, because I'm a feedback yonkie.

Thank you.

By Lylou

--------------------------

Before the sound of the shot had faded away, Michael already knew what had happened.

-"You shot her!"

-"I saved her life!

She was going to kill herself to save you... "

Michael looked at her body on the ground, her eyes were opening and closing slowly, like if she was trying to focus without getting it, and her hair was spread upon the wet ground, sprinkled by tiny blood drops. The small gun was near her hand but she was pale, much more than usual, and thousands of unconnected thoughts crossed through his mind in just a few seconds.

And that voice in his head, always unwelcome and sharp, but always right_: "You are going to lose her... she is dying." _

-"Let me help her...

...Please"

Michael's voice was dark and low, but there was something more, something that grew up from inside him.

The fear.

Kellerman spoke like he hadn't even heard Michael, and his voice sounded broken and sad during a few seconds, while he was looking at Sara, trying to breathe on the ground.

-"... I never wanted the things to go in this way..."

"-Are you going to let her bleed to death on the ground!

You have me...but she doesn't have to die tonight Paul."

-"I can't get her to a hospital... They would find her before the doctors appear."

-"Then!"

-"Do you think this is easy for me Mr. Scofield?"

-"I don't care!

But if she dies... I'll kill you."

Kellerman heard the hate, the fear and the desperation in Michael's low voice, and he knew that it was true, that cold and distant man would kill him without batting eyes for her, but he was the one with the gun.

-"You are right... she doesn't have to die... but I can't save her now."

-"You are going to let her die!

What kind of man are you?"

-"... One with a sense of duty...

But that is no longer your business"

Kellerman looked at Michael again and aimed at him, and Michael could see that his eyes were wet and a bit scared, the gun was trembling slowly in his hand, he looked at Sara one second, really sad, and Michael felt a flash of sorrow for that man.

But there was that voice in his head:

"_He is going the kill her... Sara is going to bleed to death at the lake's waterside that you always wanted to show her."_

Kellerman's sad voice brought him to the fearful reality again:

-"... I'm sorry.

...I wish that we all could have had another option..."

Michael swallowed hard and pressed his lips when he saw that Kellerman aimed at his chest.

Then he heard a shot, much more low than the earlier, and Michael could see Kellerman turning pale, until he finally dropped the gun, and then he saw the blood.

Kellerman fell on the mud on his knees and Michael could see Sara, half rested in the ground, with the small gun still smoking in her trembling hand.

Michael ran until where she was, Sara was breathing slowly, and now, her blood was soaking the dark soil under her body.

He bent down, next to her and opened her blouse to examine the wound in her side.

Michael could see Sara's breath turned into weak clouds in the cold night air... He was losing her, and it was even more painful than that far morning, whereon he told her everything, and she went out of that infirmary forever, convinced that he didn't love her, that he never had loved her.

He tried not thinking about that now, and covered desperately her wound with his hands, and Michael could felt how her warm and sticky blood was deadly escaping from her body among his own fingers.

He was losing her.

Michael could see how she was slowly fading away, how his hands were painfully getting dirty with her blood.

But if he was going to lose her forever, the last thing that she would ever heard was going to be his voice whispering in her ear, in the way that Michael always spoke to her in, like he had spoken to her in that far infirmary and all those lost nights:

-"Everything is going to be okay...

I'm here now"

Maybe it wasn't true, but he couldn't promise her anything else at this point.

Not when she was dying next to him.

Sara was pale and her hair was scattered upon the ground, her eyes were dying off slowly and Michael wasn't even sure that she could see him already.

He felt the warm tears crowding behind his eyes, but Michael thought that he would have enough time for crying after... and suddenly, without knowing how, he realized that all his life would be "after" now.

He was going to say something more, but Michael saw that her lips where moving slowly, Sara was trying to speak and he got even more close to her, until he could feel again the familiar smell of her hair and her weak breath upon his skin.

And then he heard her, and with every word that she was painfully speaking, Sara was saying "Goodbye," for the very first and last time...

Her words were fastly fading away all their memories, one by one, until Michael thought scared that he wouldn't be able even to remember her:

-"You where right Michael...

...This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen..."

To be continued...

Any feedback will be love.


	7. The cold

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara, not even Kellerman… lame but true.

Spoilers for the second season.

Summary: How to save someone that doesn't want to be saved?

Title: Some nights

Notes: Although English isn't my first language, Lisa is great and patient, and makes this possible.

Thank you.

Any mistakes that remain are my own.

The coincidence between my story, and the show, it's just that, a curious coincidence.

I really appreciate all of the feedback and reviews that I have received... Please keep them coming!

By Lylou

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first thing that she felt was the cold.

The intensive cold all over her body.

Sara opened her eyes, slowly, she didn't remember when was the last time that she found it so difficult to open her eyes.

Sara could feel the eyelids weighed and pained, like if she had spent many hours or days sleeping, but then she saw the bright artificial light from a bulb and closed them again.

It was just an ordinary bulb, but it seemed too bright like the damn midday sun...it hurt too much.

Sara tried to move, but all the intensive cold turned into sharp pain somewhere in her body.

She felt dizzy and blinked several times, with the tears behind her eyes, until the pain became just something dull in her right side.

Then, through the tears, Sara could see the ceiling upon her, it was discoloured and had some dark stains... she didn't know that place, and that scared her, more.

It frightened her so much that she wanted to move, Sara wanted to get up from that unknown bed and, in spite of the acute pain, run to a place where she could feel safe again... she knew that there was some place where she always felt safe and well... but she couldn't remember where, it was like her brain erased all her warm memories, like if all her reminders were coated in a thin ice, which was smudging it all with that cold...

Sara tried to move again, and this time she almost got it, she would have even sworn she had risen some centimeters off the mattress, but something impeded it.

She heard her own voice, and it sounded strange and unhealthily weak, like if she was a frightened little girl, and in spite the fear, the cold and the acute pain, she hated herself for her weakness.

Sara always has hated feeling weak.

-"No…. "

She wasn't even sure that she said it aloud, until she felt the touch of something familiar on her cheek, something soft... and warm.

Michael.

She could recognize his caresses with closed eyes, some nights, she had fallen asleep with his familiar and warm hand upon her naked back.

Sara tried to move, but the dull ache of her side turned into one million sharpened crystals running painfully through her sanguine torrent.

And then she heard his voice, low but tired, like if he lead many hours wakeful... but she knew that there was something more, that no one else would have noticed, it was only a note more sad in his soft voice, but she knew him very well, maybe she didn't know the little and quotidian things about him, but at this stage, she knew all of Michael Scofield's secrets and fears.

-"Everything is going to be okay...

I'm here."

And although she was addled and dizzy, Sara knew that he was lying.

She knew that Michael was just speaking loudly, that surely he didn't even notice that she had really woken up.

Sara wanted to move, to wake up fully and say to him that he hadn't need to continue lying, because she was fine and well now, but when she made an attempt to move again Sara felt that cold pain in her side, as if the skin near the wound was freezing and all her blood was coagulating on it, it was dreadful, much more worse than the morning after having been drugged for the very first time, when she woke up in company and at an unknown house at thirty damn kilometers of her car.

She let escape a weak moan amongst her very dry and pale lips, and listened to Michael's voice again, this time much more distant, like if they were on the phone and he was to a million kilometers of her again.

And he sounded exceptionally sad, even for him:

-"Everything is going to be okay Sara..."

"_No, everything is wrong…" _she would have liked to answer her, but only thinking about the pain of trying to talk persuaded her not to.

She doubted that she was really awake, that maybe all that was some of guilty and painful dreams that she used to have every time that she slept with Kellerman... but it wasn't.

Sara was sure that it wasn't a dream because it looked too much like real life; it wasn't that someone had shot her before, but all was so fucking painful and sad, that it had to be truth.

Some professional and meddler corner of her mind asked then: _Why the hell has he not taken you to a hospital?_"

Sara wasn't very sure of the answer in her actual situation, but she decided that it didn't matter, because if Michael couldn't save her, no doctor in the world would be able to do it.

It wasn't that one of the Michael's hidden accomplishments was a degree on medicine, but she thought understandably, that there was nothing in the world that that lonely man may do for her.

"_But I am trying."_

Sara remembered very well that day, she could remember how she felt that morning, frightened, crawling over the distant Fox River's dusty pipes.

She remembered his voice and his presence next to her in the darkness, like if they were the only two not insane persons in that hell.

"_Try it a bit harder Michael… Make as you could save me again."_

Then the very few that Sara could see, went meld and dizzy again, and after that, nothing, just... darkness.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Michael felt the cold water upon his face again.

He had a headache, the worst since his first party at the faculty.

Michael looked at the moldy roof and sighed once, he could listen to the wind at the other side of the thin wall of that normal and dusty motel, he never thought that he could miss that kind of things... from that not so distant cell, he couldn't hear the wind.

Sometimes, when he woke up, seemed that he was in that filthy and unkind litter again, and Michael suspected that it was the same, that it didn't matter that happens ten months or ten years, because he never would be the same man again.

Although they had been able to escape those walls, Fox River was in him, inside him, like a parasite having food slowly off his guest, absorbing every trail of forgiveness to him, and Michael knew that he never would be able to leave that behind.

Never.

But some nights, she could make him believe that "_maybe..."_

Michael hit the dirty mirror in the wall, once, twice...as if that could solve something at this point, like if that could do something good for her now.

But the warm and guilty pain in his hand made Michael feel centred again.

He hated being scared.

Michael unbuttoned his shirt, almost furious, and checked all his tattoos again.

With the fading and oscillating light of the bathroom, they seemed even more dark and permanent, like a weird monster all over his body, like if they possessed him and not on the contrary.

All the details of his plan, all those tattoos on his skin and not one was about her.

Not one of those maps and dissimulated clues had anything to do with her, and however, there she was, in each curve of that maze, in each wall and in each contingency drawn with fire upon his skin

Then Michael heard a noise in the dark bedroom and abandoned fastly the small bathroom without tying his shirt.

-"Sara…."

She was awake and up, looking at the wound in the mirror hanged up on one of walls.

She was naked under one of the bed covers and was tring to taking off the elementary bandages that he had put before, the room was in darkness except for the pale light of the bathroom and for the lightning of the storm outside.

He walked until he reached her and touched softly upon her shoulder... but she didn't turn around to look at him, she was too busy examining her dark wound.

-"Sara...

How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer but her eyes did leave the wound and looked at the floor.

-"Sara..."

-"It hurts like hell"

Michael smiled sadly and talked again, more low than before:

-"... I don't know what to say...

I'm sorry."

-"You always are Michael..."

It was true, the apologies were his speciality, but he still could see her blood on his jeans so now they were even.

-"Maybe you should come back to bed."

-"Maybe..."

-"What the hell were you thinking about Sara?"

-"I don't know... but I'll do it again.

Everything"

A flash of lightning illuminated her half-covered body in front of the mirror and she felt a soft chill upon her back, her voice sounded low when she spoke again:

-"...Do you think he is dead?"

-"Would it matter to you if he was?"

His question floated on the dark room for a few seconds until she answered:

-"Yes... Because I shot him... I shot him to save you.

Of course it matters."

-"Sorry... I was busy trying to save your life to check him.

...Did you love him?"

The question sounded rough and painful, because he was angry with her... but Michael wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

-"No.

But his lie was less painful than yours."

-"He shot you!"

-"And you left me!"

Michael looked at her, with his eyes darker than normally, maybe it was just because he was tired... maybe not.

He would have wanted to kiss her then, but not with the sweet and soft kind of kiss, no. Something more hard and painful that usually, he wanted her to plead under the weight of his naked body, feel her nails getting pricked in his own skin, to pass his hands through her face and feel her warm and angry tongue around his long fingers, her hot saliva on his skin... Michael wanted to hear her voice breaking saying his name, he wanted to push roughly into her and make love to her without much consideration.

And his voice sounded darker and lower than usual:

-"That's why you slept whim him... to punish me?"

-"Not everything has to do with you Michael.

I slept whit him because I wanted to, and because he wasn't you."

He thought again about the million desperate and warm things that he was wishing to do to her... she was so near that Michael could almost pull out the damned blanket around her naked body and prove her how furious and heated he was.

There was another flash of lightning outside but Michael didn't notice it.

-"I'm tired of that Sara... I can't live in this way."

-"Yes you can Michael, because _this way_ is all that we have."

That was too much for him. He knew it was dreadful, but hearing her say it out loud was a thousand times worse.

Michael grabbed her wrist and pulled her brusquely toward him, separating Sara from the mirror until she finally looked at him.

Her hair was uncombed and she had that defiant look that always drove him crazy: _"If you are going to do something, just do it." _

Then Michael kissed her, a furious and desperate kiss, soaking her lips with his mouth and caressing hard her hair, he was more and more angry and feeling her hot and familiar body against him it wasn't helping.

-"Do you think you can do this to me Sara...?"

She looked at him and could see that his eyes were like greenish liquid fire, Sara knew that he was mad at her, and in heat, and scared.

Sara never had seen Michael so angry before, but she was an expert in angering people, especially the men in her life.

Michael slowly raised his left hand that she could see them.

-"Look at this Sara"

She didn't want to look because she knew very well what she was going to see.

-"Look!"

She finally looked his hands and saw the dry blood underneath his fingernails, her own blood.

She passed her hands over his half tied shirt and could see the dark and unmistakable blood stains on the fabric.

-"That's your blood Sara... "

His voice sounded low and cold in that dark room, but she approached him until she could smell his skin under his half open shirt.

She was sorry, and the guilt made her feel even sadder, but Michael was so close and suddenly the room seemed really small and hot to her, like if someone had stolen all the air in it, and Sara knew very well what was coming next, after all the hot, the guilt and the angry...

Desperate and guilty sex and paper roses over her pillow the next morning.

Michael was so close that he could feel his own breath upon her skin, could see how her eyes were closed when he passed his long fingers over her warm and wet lips, he leant his forehead against her temple and spoke angry and hot into her ear:

-"Do you think you can die and leave me, just to save my life...?

You are wrong honey... I'll explain to you how wrong you are."

- - - - - - - - - -

To be continued...

Any feedback is love.


	8. The daybreak

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, not Prison Break, not Michael, not Sara, not even Kellerman… lame but true.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: There is a plan to make all of this right.

Notes: Although English isn't my first language, Lisa is great and patient, and makes this possible. I hope you know how much I love you.

Thank you.

Any mistakes that remain are my own.

Notes 2: Sorry, I know it have been a long since the last time that I updated this story, but this chapter is longer (and the last) so, I hope you dont hate me more than necessary.

Title: Some nights

Chapter title: The daybreak.

Every comment is love.

By Lylou

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Michael opened his eyes slowly.

At first, he didnt know where he was, strange bed, strange room half-illuminated...

But even that, he could felt her warmith next to him.

It was almost intoxicating the smell of her shampoo floating in the air, her hair spread over the pillow beside him, her soft breath against his neck... The familiar taste of her skin in his mouth...

Michael smiled in silence during a few seconds in that half-dark motel room.

It was the first morning that he woke up at her side.

After he went out from Fox River and since his nightly visits to her apartment began, they had slept together many guilty nights, but he always was gone before daybreak.

Until now.

Now Michael could see Sara illuminated just with the orange light of the dawn slipping through the curtains, sleeping next to him, like if suddenly there could be hope for them.

Michael thought that maybe all the dawns before, he wasn't just running from the cops or from going back to prison, maybe he was just afraid of the light, for the first time in his life.

Maybe, without knowing it, Michael had gotten used to the darkness, even long time before entering in Fox River.

Perhaps, all the dawns before he was testing her and testing himself, running from her, running from her silence, from her hurt looks, their painful lies... Putting even more distance between them.

And Michael never knew why, he didn't even know it now.

But he had awaken at her side today, for the very first time... That had to mean something.

And there they were: All the "_what if's"_ were suddenly next to him, sleeping in the bed with them.

But hope was something that Michael Scofield was not accustomed to.

Because he could remeber her dry blood under his own nails.

The taste of her hot and angry kisses, her hurful and warm words against his ear, her soft moan when he passed his hands over her pale skin, her addictive smell surronding him... Michael could remeber a lot of things of the night before.

And he wasn't very proud of some of them, but he wasn't the one that had shot her.

He sighed low and sad in that cheap motel room, Michael could remember himself loosing control, squeezing Sara against himself until he heard her say his name like never before, with her voice darkened by the pain and the desire.

He could remeber the hopeless kisses, the angry and warm words interrupted against her ear, his breath upon her skin...

Michael was remembering how he made love to her, slowly and desperately, like he would have wanted to do since the first far night that he saw the other man entering in her house.

He closed his eyes in that less and less dark room, and thought about the storm of last night.

About the angry desert wind beating the windows, about the rain thinning down her blood from the land... Michael could remember Sara aiming to her head to save his life, the surprised and angry look in the other man's face, same as his... maybe that man loved Sara too...

And maybe Michael loves her too much, that he would have shot her too on the side to save her life.

Although he would have known that she would never forgive him after, knowing that he would never see Sara again, and surely, knowing that she would have hate him forever.

Maybe, even all that, he would have shot her too

Sara's breath began to change until she finally woke up.

Next to him.

"-... How are you feeling?

-"... It hurts like hell."

Her voice sounded sleepy and in pain, but even that, Michael could felt her hot breath upon the skin of his chest.

Sara moved slowly under the bed sheets, until she opened the eyes at last to look at him, and Michael could see that she was perfectly remembering all that had happened in the last hours.

-"Michael...

What are we going to do now?"

Sara talked like all those mornings in the infirmary, when he didn't even know that he was falling in love with her, when it was easy to make promises.

Sara talked like if all the last months had been only a blurred nightmare... like if she trusted him again.

Like if now, she could even think about forgiving him.

Or maybe she had forgiven him long ago, but maybe Michael hadn't found out until this morning.

-"Are you hungry Sara?"

-"... What?"

-"The border is about... ten kilometers from here.

And I still owe you a coffee."

She chuckled softly and Michael pulled her a bit more against him in the bed, thinking that after almost a year of flights at dawn from her bed, he could get used to waking up at her side.

-"Do you still remember that conversation?"

Her voice sounded still sleepy and a bit surprised, and he smiled weakly in silence before answering:

-"Why are you so surprised?"

-"I never thought you where that kind of man."

-"What kind of man?"

She kept quiet for a few seconds, looking for the right words to say:

-"The kind that keeps his promises."

Michael chuckled a bit and she could feel her uncombed hair moving softly with his breathe:

-"Sorry if that dissapoints you... But yes, I'm that kind of man."

Sara talked soft and her voice sounded a bit sad:

-"Although you never have promised me anything... I'm glad to hear it."

"_That is not true" _

Michael wished he had said it out loud, but he didn't.

Sara was right; he never had promised anything to her that he may comply.

But even that, half of the stupid things that he had done in his life, he had done them for her.

And that was a lot of stupid things.

-"I promisse you a coffee...

Can we start for a coffee?."

-"... Yes.

We can."

They listened to the noise of another guest in the parking and Michael leant a little to look at the alarm clock:

-"We should go Sara... Every minute here..."

-"I know... But I don't know where my clothes are."

Michael smiled a bit and answered:

-"They are in the bathroom... but they are dirty."

-"With blood?"

-"Yes."

Michael's shadowy tone made Sara remember her life running away, the metal taste of her own blood in her mouth, the scared look in Michael eyes while she was lying on the cold ground or his hand pressing her wound getting dirty with blood, trying to stop the bleeding... The cold.

-"...I'm sorry Michael."

Her voice sounded low and a bit ashamed, like if she was about to break, but she didn't, instead, Sara continued talking:

-"But if all would be on contrary... I think you would have done the same thing."

-"You are wrong Sara.

It never would have been on the contrary, because I never would let the things go that far."

-"Maybe... But we'll have to live with what happened, because I'm tired of being angry Michael."

-"...I'm tired too."

Sara smiled weakly but it didn't last:

-"Michael... Do you think he is dead?"

-"I don't care... You do?"

-"Yes... because I shot him."

-"You shot him to save me Sara...

I would have done the same thing, to save you."

She spoke low, like if she was just saying it for herself:

-"I know..."

Michael looked at her in silence, she was still leaning on him and Michael only could see her hair spilled over the skin of his chest, but she _knew it._

His voice sounded a bit funny:

-"Now that your boyfriend has shot you...

Can you forgive me, for everything?"

-"...Forgiving you was always the easy part Michael...

Living with what we have made each other... has not been that easy."

-"I have seen you bleeding to death Sara...

I think we are even now."

This last time Michael's voice sounded distant, and something more, maybe there was still a stain of fear on it.

"_Actually Sara, yours have been much worse..."_

-"Michael, in other circunstances, would you let him there?"

-"Do you really want to know the answer?"

Sara thought about it during a second... Worth the while start again?

-"No.

It doesn't matter anymore."

Michael kept quiet during a second, thinking about what Sara had just said:

"_It doesn't matter anymore."_

It was a relief to hear it out loud finally.

He gave her a fast kiss on the forehead, got up from bed, and began to pick up his clothes spread all over the floor.

Sara sat down on the bed and looked to him in silence until she finally spoke:

-"Where is my shirt?"

-"I told you... It is dirty."

-"I don't care... It is just blood Michael.

I don't care anymore."

He looked at her during a second, knowing that those words were more than just words...

It was their new promise.

-"... I'll go for them."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sara walked slow and leant on Michael, trying to go by unnoticed in the motel parking.

Michael opened the car's door without releasing her at all and helped her to sit down.

Before he closed the car door, Michael got close to her and whispered:

-"He wasn't dead Sara."

The sun was entering through the open car door and Sara looked at him, eyes wide open. Michael was having an intrigued and nervous look, more than she had seen him before, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded impatient and a bit afraid of her answer:

-"Does that change anything to you?"

-"Nothing."

Michael smiled weakly and closed car's door before going to sit down in the driver's seat.

He started the car and road began to disappear under the wheels.

-"But I would have killed him Michael...

If it would be you or him, I would kill him every time..."

Sara's voice sounded low but sure.

-"I know Sara... "

Michael held his breath during a second before continuing talking:

-"...But I didn't want you to live with that...

He wasn't dead Sara."

-"... I don't want to live with that either."

Sara closed her eyes and leant on the seat, letting the weak warmth of the morning sun slide over her.

She felt the car moving, bringing them closer to the border.

The pain in her side was a dull ache now, and it was going to leave a new scar... But she could live with that.

And Sara thought then, for the first time in her life, that she could even live with herself.

She opened her eyes and looked at Michael, next to her, he was serious but after a few seconds he smiled weakly.

-"Where are we going now Michael?"

There was somthing new in her voice, it wasn't pain or secrets, it was something that she wasn't accustomed.

Hope.

Michael chuckled a bit but he didn't apart the look from the road, and like usually, he answered her question with another question:

-"... Have you ever been to Panama?"

-"No...

It was there where you have been hidding from me all this time?

For the first time since they left the motel, Michael's eyes left the road to look at her, still with that mysterious half smile that always made her think that she didn't know Michael Scofield at all.

But that wasn't true, Sara knew him so well that she knew that he was not going to answer.

-"... How it is Michael?

Where you live?"

-"...It is hot and lonely."

-"Good,

I like hot and lonely."

Michael smiled and put on his sunglasses before speaking again:

-"Can I ask you a question now... How do you like coffee Sara?"

She closed her eyes in the seat again and smiled softly before answering:

-"... Not lonely."

Michael looked at the road, a bit serious and he thought again about all their lies, about the passion burning him alive, the lonely nights without her and all the guilty nights after having had her.

He remembered the first night that he saw that man entering her apartment, all the bright and far mornings in her infirmary, when he never thought that there could be something that good in that place...

He was still thinking about all that when they showed their passports to the only bored guard in the small and dusty border booth of check.

And when they were a few meters away Michael talked finally:

-"Bienvenida a México Sara."

She smiled and looked at him:

-"I guess that now is very late to regret it..."

Michael looked at her during a few seconds before ask:

-"Do you regret it Sara?"

-"No."

He smiled and continued driving across the desert, the hot morning wind was sneaking for the small car window and disheveling Sara's hair, and she talked, like the very first morning in_ their_ infirmary:

-"You know Michael...

It is the first time that you did not disappear at daybreak."

-"... I know."

Sara looked at him in silence during a few seconds, thinking about the next question, and when she finally spoke, her voice sounded curious, and maybe, a bit scared:

-"Do you regret it Michael?"

-"No."

She closed her eyes leant in the seat, feeling the rays in her skin and the hot wind rustling her hair, she was there, listening the old song from the radio, when Michael's low and familiar voice made her open her eyes to look at him:

-"Do you think we can make it Sara...?

After all?"

She smiled softly and talked:

-"... I don't know.

But that's why we are going to start for a coffee..."

Michael looked at her and smiled, and before paying attention to that desert road again, And Sara could see a weak ray of hope, crossing behind his greenish eyes.

THE END.

Every comment is love.


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